Thursday, December 01, 2005

10 to the 7 to the 5. 10 Defining Moments. 5 Pivitol People. 7 Critical Choices part ONE

A woman I love recently completed an interesting exercise. List 5 pivitol people in your life. List 10 Defining moments. List 7 critical choices. I don't think I will like what I find. I don't know how honest I will be with myself especially in cyberspace. All 10's are defining moments; all 5's are pivitol people; all 7's are critical choices. I reserve the right to do more or less and to revise, revise, revise. Some things I may say a lot or somethings nothing at all... right now.5-Muhammed Ali- along with Joanne Howard a very beautiful high school english teacher, Ali thrust me into the world of poetry. I would write and recite silly prose like Ali. "moves like a butterfly, stings like a bee, who could it be? Muhammed Ali! He spoke these words before the fight, then Smokey Joe put Ali in flight, When Muhammed came down, Smokey Joe was still there, this was more than Clay could bear..." I still remember the entire thing! Embarrassing! However, in my junior year Joanne encouraged me to enter a poetry competition which I ultimately won. That poem, "Happiness Is" can be found at the end of this blog. I continued to write but was pretty sick of the poetry scene. Well mostly I was sick of mine own ego. I really didn't like any poetry but my own and I new something was wrong with that picture. 1986 I move back to Cleveland and I find this poetry set and... well this poem albeit long winded tells the experience best. It's called Born Agin. Of course the poet who inspired the poem is in the last line or so. Don't know where the edited rewrite copy is right now. I'll insert that one later. A few years later I am hosting a poetry set at the Cleveland Museum of Art. I bring in a group called the Black Poetic Society. People came from 3 or 4 counties to see this! they blew me away. One of the cats in the group was R.A. Washington who has been a poetry mentor, friend, confidant who has modeled much about the artist's life before me. Here he is: Monkey Musak I have to say I am indebted to the poetry world and poetry community and Mike, Muhammed, Joanne and R.A.I was once testifying to what Mike did for me at the Nia Coffeehouse and when Mike got to the mic he quipped, "Man I tell ya, give a guy a kidney and he never let's ya forget it!" Hey may be tired of that joke but it still tickles me silly this 8 years later.

Borne Agin

I walked into this joint with my wife and an old friend.One cowering to my leftThe other with the back of my shirt securely clutched inBoth handsC’mon, C’mon, sez meIrritated that I was out with two people who would actuallyShow their fearLet’s sit over thereStanding in a doorwayWe peered inA bare light bulb in the center of the roomHung downA swingingBack and 4thLike a freshly UsedNooseShedding lightNot quite bright enoughTo give the corners of the roomAnything other than aEnter at your own risk sorta feel

Suddenly my mind escaped back toMy poetry daysMy poetry hazeAnd I rememberI remember how I left the poetry sceneCauseI just didn't dig anyPoetryBut my own

NowI’m wrenched back to the futureOf that pastNowThe nowThe hear and nowMy ears are filled to over-flowingFilled to explodingBy a cacophonyOf living wordsPainting Pictures(If it weren’t for the safety valve from my earsTo my mouth)Pictures with imagery sojuicy my mouth is literallywatering(If it were not for that safety valveSurely, I would be deafened)Living wordsSluuuuuurp!I’m droolingWords that individuallyAre just wordsWords togetherSo strongThey lift me up off my feetSqueeze the air out of meAbruptly, return meTo gravity’sControlAnd Arrogantly stop time toGive me a sweetTenderKissNegating the impact as IPlummetTo the hearAnd nowWell sortaI look at my wifeHer face is blankEyes bolted on some guyAt the micI wave my hand in front of her faceNoReactionShe only sees the wordsRolling, spillingCascading, spewingOut of his mouth(If it were not for the safety valveFrom the ears to the heartShe would surely be blinded)As the words hit the floorSome flatten and spreadAnd become stickyThe smell of hot, freshlyConcocted MarmaladeCooling on a porch inHuntsville, Alabama rises to greetUsSome words are slimyAnd I reach for aHandkerchief to wipe the snot from my faceAnd look around to seeWho needs it NextWords sore Words vexWords sour Words soarWords Ricochet like high poweredSuper ballsCausing us to dodge and weaveDuck and cleaveTo one anotherThe room is chin high with theseWordsChilling us as they seep inside usThese wordsWarming usThese wordsBurning us as they touch bareSkinTearing us as they touch thinSkinSlowlyI realize the three of usSharing the same momentSharing the same SpaceSlowly we separateInto our ownSelf absorbedTime zonesOur ownSelfishly guardedspacesThe room reappears,But now it isRadiantGold tiers that wereOnce steps going to who knows whereNow exist of their own recognizance to go beyondJust soaked in lightIt is almost like the timeGod spoke to me while IWas tripping on acidYeahlooking out over PlacidLandscaped greenery with brooksThat gurgledBirds that twirped wind thatWhistled composing the mostWonderful SymphonyGod said LookI live andI can touch you and reveal My GloryEven when you areStonedOut ofYourMindEnjoy your tripAnd I want time with you when you come downAnd here I wasComing downBrown, round clown, soundThe blood in my earsPounds!Ground, bound, found, houndIs that what he’s saying?I don’t think I can hearThe blood in my earsPoundsMound, town, woundAnd I hear words fading outAnd crashing into nostalgic self“”Big King Daddy of …Big King Daddy of what?Is that what he said?!At this moment God forges thisThoughtAnd God takes itAnd sprinkles itInto ourHeartsShoving us backTo that single planeRe-shuffling us togetherLike a deck of cardsI take the thoughtForm it into wordsTake a deep breathJust to hear my wife say itThe 1st partWhat was that?!And my friendSay it the 2nd partWhat just happened!?And I thought I heard GodSaying“He’s one of mine”About the guy at the micI thought he said“When I count to 3You will be back in Tremont1…2….3….”The other thing I remember…The only furnitureIn the roomA bean bag chairMAN!The 1st time I heard Michael Salinger read

Happiness is…

Loneliness… anEternity- involvement then Tranquility, Togetherness

Minds’Evolution toward total bliss,

InteractionNow two Psyches unite, a heart is won

The mind of a lover is totally undoneOne heart seeksLoveThe other mind…

Your Host

Cavana Faithwalker was born in Cleveland, Ohio. Much of his
worldview and values have been molded by his Blackness bestowed upon him in a
working class Black, urban neighborhood. He blames his packrat tendencies, the
economy in his art and poetry on being raised by an Alabama, depression baby
momma who was raised on a farm with her nine brothers and sisters. "She is
probably the reason I fight consumerism gone amuck and the overly me-ish
influence of our society," says Cavana.

His fascination with mechanical things, physics, his aesthetics,
his sense of humor and how things relate to each other comes from construction
worker dad and others.

He has a degree in public art marketing and management from
Cleveland State University. His major is composed of Urban Studies, Studio Art and Marketing.

He says his “new best friend” now is Amit Goswami a quantum
physicist turned spiritual guru and quantum activist. " I
think something is happening worldwide as far as spiritual consciousness.
For me after almost a quarter century of mainstream and somewhat
fundamentalist Christian dogma and orthodoxy, that whole thing is giving in to a new interpretation of what
the canon says and also what is myth and what is ‘reality.’

When it comes to orthodoxy and dogma I
rather like an adage attributed to Zen Buddhism, ‘when you meet the Buddha in
the road, kill the Buddha.’"

Cavana believes in congruency. “The more you can be in sync with your
authentic self the healthier you are and the more life you bring to the things
you do, yeah congruency.” He aims
at being content in life and enjoying life. His mantra is breathe in breathe out. “Through meditating when I play my didgeridoo
I may have zeroed in on the one thing that won’t change in my world view, it
may be the constancy that anchors me, the lessons in science, those
metaphysical concepts beyond the science of plant animal relationships
surrounding oxygen are powerful. A natural outcome of this mantra is thinking
win-win, big picture, and yin yang.

Perhaps when you gravitate to something or are in accord with something it was meant to be that revelations come through it.I learned to play the didjeridoo in 30 minutes, ‘circular’ breathing and how to make sounds.Many play along time without learning ‘circular breathing’ but it just seemed like the thing to do."

Cavana is a visual and performance artists, he sings and plays
didjeridu and is aiming at attaining some level of expertise at throat singing
also know as overtone singing.

Cavana was the Poet Laureate for the City of Cleveland Heights,
Ohio from 2011-2013.

"Muhammed Ali got me into poetry with his prose and antics in the
70s," Faithwalker says. "I would write prose poetry and recite
them for fellow students in high school." He won his first poetry
contest while in high school.

Today Cavana puts himself in the activist 'box'. "A lot of folks don't like labels but we are hardwired to label and pre judge. I read this sign that said activism is the rent for living on this planet, or something like that. I like that but even more so we are all activists if we become aware and congruent. We naturally care, compassion, and get involved and wear off on those that have been beat up too much to care and get involved - empowerment. When we get too beat up someone re empowers us. Romantic view I know and I try to live into it.